The Rat Came Back
by MadnessJones
Summary: G1-Beast Wars: Huffer did the unthinkable. He survived when he should have died, and this led him to live on the fringes of society. When Cybertron turns to beast modes to conserve energy Huffer reinvents himself as an unassuming Maximal named Rattrap. Unfortunately, life isn't done with him yet. No pairings.
1. MIA, KIA, or AWOL?

_Author's Notes: Hello everyone, and welcome to my 50th Transformers fic! Yay! Okay, I should probably mention that the poll for deciding my 50th fic's subject only got 5 voters, so after much debate and soul searching I decided to not go with any of those ideas. Instead I wanted this story to be more personal, so I chose one of my favorite Autobots (Huffer) as the star, I chose the topic of one Transformer becoming another because it's reminiscent of my first TF fic (Another's Optics), and I chose Beast Wars as one of the two continuities in this story because it was the TF show I grew up watching. Hopefully this story will be great. At the very least it will be long. Thank you for checking out my 50th story, and I hope to write 50 more :)_

* * *

Chapter 1

MIA, KIA, or AWOL?

A youngling mech stepped off his transport ship and entered the hallowed halls of the floating Autobot Memorial. It was a large ship that was designed to be the final resting place for those who had lost their lives in the final skirmishes that ended the Third Cybertronian War.

There were many tombs that lined the walls like file cabinet doors. Some of these housed deceased Autobots, while others merely displayed the names and had the few scattered remains of their namesakes nestled within. Some died during the battle of Autobot City, while others perished during Unicron's attack on Cybertron. There were only names for those that had been eaten by Unicron or otherwise killed on the moon bases. There was also a special room for the mausoleum and commemorative statue of Optimus Prime.

The youngling wandered the halls gazing respectfully at the different grave sites. The one year anniversary of the end of the Cybertronian War was next orn, but the youngling wanted to come early to avoid the crowds and take photos without interruption.

As he wandered into the room of those that had perished in Autobot City he noticed that there was already a visitor standing in front of the plaques and staring at them. It appeared that the other visitor was a minibot, and his expression was unreadable. The youngling didn't want to run or speak too loudly in such a quiet place, but he figured it would be nice to have somebody to talk to, so he decided to approach the stranger.

"Hello," The youngling spoke softly so as not to disrupt the stifling silence.

"Huh? Oh, hey," The minibot replied distractedly; startled that someone else was there, "Autobot Day is next orn, kid."

"I know, I decided to come early," The youngling replied, "My name is Thunderous. What's yours?"

"Look kid, I don't really wanna talk, okay?" The minibot replied in a world weary tone, "Just leave me alone."

"Um, but you're here early too," Thunderous continued, "Did you also want to avoid the crowds?"

"Yeah, and two's a crowd," The minibot groused, "What are you even doin' here? Shouldn't you be playin' with your jump rope or your game boing or whatever you kids do nowadays?"

"It's called a Game Boy, and that's an earth thing," Thunderous pointed out, "Say, did you ever get to visit earth? I mean, most of these Autobots were on earth when they died. Just think about it. These mechs were a part of a great moment in history. Now that the war is finally over, I mean...my sire was killed by the Decepticons. I've been on my own ever since, and I thought when I got my final upgrade I would have to join the fighting. I mean, I didn't want to, but I just accepted that I would have to. Now though, we're all free. I can be anything I want and live in peace; we all can. Sure, there are still Decepticons, but it isn't the same. Cybertron isn't at war with itself because the Decepticons don't live there anymore. It's over. We won."

" _They_ didn't win," The minibot pointed out bleakly as he gestured to the plaques, "It ain't fair. The brave and the noble don't survive. The cowards and the lucky survive. You see that name there?"

"Um...It says Brawn," Thunderous read off curiously, "What about him?"

"He died from a shoulder wound. A fraggin' shoulder wound!" The minibot shouted in despair and rage, "He coulda lived too, since there was a medic onboard. Not just any medic either, but the best fraggin' medic Cybertron's ever known. Ratchet was right there, but he got killed too. I just stay up at night sometimes and wonder how long Brawn had to lay there and suffer while those slaggin' 'Cons flew the ship into Autobot City. I just wonder if he tried playin' dead at first, only to end up dead for real. I wonder if any of 'em tried to live long enough to stop them..."

"You...you sound like you knew this mech," Thunderous ventured to guess, "Was he someone you knew well?"

"He was one tough fragger and the biggest pain in the aft to ever walk on two pedes, but he was company," The minibot shrugged, "I had acquaintances among the ranks on earth as well as the moon bases. To be fair I don't think they liked me much, but they were someone to talk to. There's only one mech in this stinkin' silicon cemetery that I would call a true friend, and that was the big guy himself, Optimus Prime,"

" _No way_! You knew Optimus Prime? No way, you're lying!" Thunderous exclaimed in a combination of excitement and denial.

"You bet I knew him," The minibot replied, smiling for the first time since they started talking, "He was a good mech and a great leader. I met him after the Decepticons attacked a construction site I was workin' on. At the time I was a civilian, because back then there was still such a thing as civilians. Anyway, I woke up lyin' on a medical berth in an Autobot hospital, and who should I see checkin' on the wounded but the Prime himself. Now, I was sure he would just briefly check on us wounded guys and leave since he was so big and important, but he didn't. When he sat down at my berthside he asked me what happened, asked me how I felt, and didn't groan in frustration when I gave him an honest answer. We became friends after that, and I joined the Autobots because even though I thought we might lose, I figured I'd rather lose with a friend who cared about me than win with a cold-sparked tyrant like Megatron breathin' down my neck cables."

The minibot then walked closer to the files that read IRONHIDE, RATCHET, and HUFFER and leaned against it while he offlined his optics. Thunderous could see that talking about the past was weighing heavily on the older mech's spark, but to his surprise the old minibot continued.

"You know what the difference is between a leader like Optimus and a leader like Megatron?" The minibot asked, "There are two differences, actually. One is that Megatron was single."

Thunderous started laughing hysterically at that cavalier assessment from the minibot.

"It's true. Megatron looks like one of those undead zombies in a horror broadcast. I know I wouldn't date him," The minibot continued, and Thunderous continued to laugh, "Eh, seriously though. The other thing Optimus had over Megatron was that Optimus cared. When he made a decision he always factored in his troop's lives and limitations, and when he talked to you he could make you feel like you mattered no matter how worthless you felt before. What made Prime a great leader wasn't his height, or his big rifle, or his ability to take on Megatron by himself. No, it was that he _cared_. Megatron had power, but he didn't care about his mechs. That's why he could never be as good as Optimus, no matter what the 'Cons say."

"Wow, I wish I could've met him," Thunderous replied wistfully, "I'm gonna go see his statue and get a few pictures. You wanna come?"

"Nah, I just wanna be by myself," The minibot replied glumly despite their earlier conversation, "Thanks anyway, kid."

Thunderous gave the minibot a hopeful look before walking away. The minibot shook his helm. Fragging younglings and their youthful optimism. Despite it annoying the minibot however, he still hoped the kid could hold onto that feeling forever.

The minibot looked to make sure the kid had really left, and then opened the drawer to the tomb that read HUFFER. The only thing inside the tomb was a few lonesome pieces of scrap metal.

"Huh, I wondered what they put in there," Huffer said to himself at he assessed the contents of his supposed grave, "I wonder what these parts really came from. Maybe the turret? Eh, who cares? Just a bunch of reject parts...and to think it was so easy to mistake them for me. I guess that fits...reject parts. Worthless scrap..."

Huffer then closed the drawer and went over to the other plaques one by one. He didn't want to show up on Autobot Day because he didn't want to run into anyone that could identify him, but he still felt a duty to show up and pay his respects to the 'Bots he considered as close as a family. A large, annoying, dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Optimus," Huffer whispered into the expanse, "I know I let you down. I let all of you down. I hate myself for what I did, but you have to admit...I'm still alive and you're not. I don't mean to be disrespectful or anythin', but I just didn't wanna die on earth. I love Cybertron too much to die without ever seein' her again. How was I supposed to know what was gonna happen? How was I supposed to know how much you needed me? I'm so sorry everybody...I'm _so_ sorry..."

* * *

It had all started a year ago in Autobot City on earth. Huffer was helping Arcee move boxes into Wheeljack's lab and they were having a normal conversation. Ultra Magnus and his crew had recently moved to Autobot City to regroup after the 'Cons had taken Iacon. Huffer had been relieved to hear Arcee was among the group of survivors. Even though Huffer and Arcee were about the same age she was actually his grandsire's sister, which made her his great aunt. Since Cybertronians could live for millions of years, it made their family dynamics a bit more complex than it would be for humans.

"Hey Huffer, I was just wondering, what do you think of Springer?" Arcee suddenly asked, though she didn't turn around to look at him as she situated items on a shelf, "He asked me out the other day, but I said I'd get back to him. I just...I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship yet or not, what with the war and everything..."

"Whoa, whoa, hit the breaks on this conversation Arcee!" Huffer exclaimed a bit too loudly for the mostly empty space they found themselves in, "Do I look like one of your girlfriends? Go ask someone else about this Springer thing."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm the only femme on earth," Arcee pointed out sourly.

"Then you should be able to do better than Springer," Huffer replied half-jokingly, "I still don't see why you have to talk to me about this though. I don't care about your love life."

"Huffer," Arcee sighed sharply, "I know you better than anyone else on the ship, and I need to talk to you."

Huffer knew that tone. It was a tone that said if he didn't listen to her now he would get an audial full later, and with more yelling. Deciding it was best to bite the bullet now, he sat down on a steel shipping crate and indicated he was listening, whether he wanted to or not.

"Well, it's just that..." Now that Arcee had Huffer's undivided attention she wasn't sure where to begin, "Well, Springer is nice and all, but he's just so grizzled and tough. I know this is weird, but I think I like Hot Rod."

" _Hot Rod_?" Huffer asked in revulsion.

"Yeah," Arcee replied without noticing Huffer's tone, "Though I don't think he knows I feel that way about him. It's just that he's so good with little Daniel Witwicky. I don't know. I just can't help but think about if and when the war ends. I never thought I'd want a family, but now that I'm older I find myself thinking about when the war ends and maybe having and bondmate and sparklings."

"With Hot Rod?" Huffer asked flatly, "Sorry to break it to you Arcee, but that loser ain't got no future. He's a reckless younglin' and he's gonna get himself offlined one of these days if he doesn't shape up and get with the program. Springer might not be much but at least he follows orders. Kids nowadays just don't listen to nothin'."

"Thanks for the daily dosage of grump," Arcee deadpanned as she crossed her arms, "Okay, you've convinced me. I think I will give Springer a chance. If it doesn't work out then I'll tell Hot Rod how I feel."

Huffer just sighed in relief at not having to discuss this topic further and went back to doing his chores. Arcee noticed the way Huffer was dragging his pedes and how his shoulder joints slumped. She knew he was a complainer, but lately he seemed downright depressed.

"Huffer? What's wrong?" Arcee finally asked when she couldn't figure it out for herself.

"The better question is what's right?" Huffer threw the question right back at her, "The 'Cons have Cybertron, and soon they'll have every energy producin' planet in the galaxy, includin' earth. I just don't see what the point is anymore. You talk about when the war is over, but it's only gonna be over when we're all offline."

"That's not true, Huffer," Arcee said consolingly.

"Isn't it?" Huffer asked rhetorically, "Sometimes I think Skyfire and Beachcomber had the right idea."

"Who are Skyfire and Beachcomber?" Arcee asked.

"Skyfire was a wishy washy mech we dug outta the ice, and Beachcomber was a wishy washy mech we frequently had to dig out of a ditch," Huffer replied bitingly, "A few years ago Skyfire left us when he decided he couldn't choose between fightin' on our side and not hurtin' his ex-best friend who just so happened to be Starscream."

" _Starscream_?" Arcee gasped, "Was this Skyfire mech a double agent?"

"I used to think so," Huffer admitted shamelessly, "However, I don't think he could've pulled that kind of scam off. He was a pacifist and wanted to go back to doin' sciencey stuff. Turns out he and our resident geologist Beachcomber had similar ideas when it came to nonviolence and the war draggin' on for too long. One day the two of them go into Prime's office and tell him that they're leavin' to go live on some random moon where the residents agreed to let them live and work on studyin' some weird lookin' rocks or somethin'. We ain't heard from either one of them since."

"Oh, were you friends with either of them?" Arcee asked in concern.

"No," Huffer snorted, "They were idiots. Skyfire was huge yet he'd get taken down in one hit, and Beachcomber would just walk away in the middle of a battle while his teammates were gettin' their afts handed to them. We're better off without 'em. At the time I thought they were traitors, but as it turns out...I don't wanna be here anymore, Arcee."

"I understand-" Arcee started to say.

"No, you don't understand!" Huffer interrupted her, his voice filled with pain, "You've only been on this planet a few weeks. I've been here for 25 slaggin' years! That's over a quarter vorn! I spent 4 _million_ years in stasis lock! The Cybertron I knew is gone, and I can't even see what's left of my own home world! Earth is a disgustin' mud ball where organic goop gets in my joints, the weather is either too hot or too wet or too cold or too windy! Birds drop their waste on me if I take a nap outside in vehicle mode, and I'm stuck here while Optimus Prime and the others are fightin' for their lives on Cybertron! I wanna go back to Cybertron! If I'm gonna die I'd at least like to be able to pick where I do it!"

Huffer had yelled so much that he had to refill his intakes with air when he was done. He vented in and out several times while Arcee just watched him in silent shock. Finally, after realizing that he had yelled at Arcee pretty harshly, Huffer ducked his helm and shyly muttered a "Sorry".

"Wow, that's been building up for a long time, huh?" Arcee asked, trying to add levity to the moment.

"Yeah, I guess so," Huffer replied in a voice barely above a whisper, "Why won't they let me go home?"

"You know why, Huffer," Arcee said gently as she placed her hand on his hardtop, "For the same reason Ultra Magnus sent me and my team to earth. Only the most skilled mechs can handle Megatron now, and that's why only the senior command staff and the best frontline warriors went back to Cybertron. We were told to stay here until further notice, so we have to stay here."

"Yeah, I know," Huffer muttered defeatedly, "But it hurts."

Arcee gave Huffer a sad empathetic smile before going back to work. Huffer sighed heavily and went back to unpacking boxes for Wheeljack and Perceptor, who would have to share a lab now. The Ark wasn't safe anymore because the Decepticons had figured out how to get past their automatic defenses. Now they had to live inside Metroplex, a living city, and Huffer always felt a little more self conscious when walking around the place. He wondered briefly if being an inhabited city-former was anything like having turbo fleas.

* * *

It was later that day when Ultra Magnus ordered Huffer to go back to the Ark and retrieve supplies for Ironhide, Ratchet, Brawn, and Prowl. Those four Autobots were expected to return the following day with supplies from Cybertron and news about Optimus Prime's next plan of attack. Comm links could no longer be trusted, so the message had to be delivered in person.

Huffer did as he was told and drove to the Ark, but his spark wasn't in it. Brawn didn't mean to, but he always made Huffer feel bad about himself for his inferiority and pessimism. Truth was Huffer was a very physically strong minibot, but he was no warrior, unlike Brawn who lived for combat. Huffer might've considered Brawn a decent enough mech, but he really didn't want to see him.

Much to Huffer's surprise, he found he didn't want to see most of the old gang. He got sick of looking at haggard face plates that reminded him of their impending loss. He got tired of being dismissed by most of his own team every time he voiced a complaint or requested to be transferred to Cybertron like Brawn and Ironhide had been. In short, he was tired of the war, period.

Huffer transformed into robot mode and entered the Ark to gather their stuff. He knew Warpath was on duty guarding the old ship, but that did little to dissolve the feeling of loneliness in Huffer's spark as he entered the empty halls of his former home. He sighed for probably the ten billionth time in his life and trudged into the main living area into Ironhide's room.

Huffer gathered some guns for Ironhide since he knew the old warrior enjoyed shooting things. He searched for something to give Ironhide to make the new place feel like home, only to see the old 'Bot didn't really have much of anything left in the Ark. It made sense, Huffer mused, since a ship was never really supposed to be home in the first place. Like Ironhide, Huffer also kept most of his personal belongings in his subspace, just in case he had to bug out on short notice.

Huffer went into Brawn's room next and grabbed his things, followed by the medbay and then finally Prowl's office. He was surprised to see that Ratchet had more stuff than any of them, and it wasn't all just medical equipment. There were awards, old photo albums, drawings from the Dinobots, more drawing from random earth school children thanking the Autobots for their heroism, random things collected from earth, and schematics for two different models of toasters that were conspicuously marked with red and yellow highlighters.

Huffer laughed to himself since he knew no one was watching. Oh sure, Warpath had cameras, but they didn't have sound. Huffer found it strange that Red Alert would trust his security system to a mech like Warpath while Red Alert was in Autobot City. Then again, Huffer didn't really know enough about Warpath to know if he was proficient in security detail or not. As loud as Warpath was he didn't really talk about himself all that much.

In Prowl's office Huffer was greeted with cold sterilization. That wasn't news. What was news was that Prowl had a junk drawer. Huffer was surprised to see that the uptight Datsun allowed one small area of his world to be filled with clutter when absolutely everything else was spotless. Knowing this would be his only opportunity to snoop around, Huffer explored the contents of the junk drawer.

The first thing he noticed was a newspaper clipping. It was Chip Chase's obituary. Huffer sighed yet again as he sat in Prowl's chair and looked down at the small piece of paper. Everyone had been sad when Chip had died, but Huffer had no idea Prowl had felt the loss so deeply. Chip had contracted gangrene in his legs after a routine run-in with the Decepticons. It had started out as mere flesh wounds, but Chip couldn't feel the infection spreading in his legs since he had no sensation in that area. By the time he knew something was wrong, it was too late to save him.

Huffer scowled at the paper and shoved it back in Prowl's scandalously messy drawer. He would give Prowl his data pads and flash drives, but he wouldn't remind the SIC of that tragic event if he could help it. Prowl might've been a stick in the mud but he deserved peace as much as the next 'Bot.

Huffer didn't even bother to say hello to Warpath as he left. He just drove back to the Ark in silence and went about his job placing the items he collected into their respective guest quarters. He hated this slagging war. He was getting tired of fighting and getting tired of watching friends and acquaintances die. He wanted to do more than just survive. He wanted to live again. He wanted the shining metallic embrace of Cybertron. Even if it killed him, he wanted to go home.

 _You could, you know_... A voice in Huffer's memory banks spoke to him from a time gone by. _What are we even fighting for anymore? You could come with us and start a new life on Titan. I'm sure Prime would let you. He's a cool dude like that._

Huffer scowled in disgust at his own thoughts. Those had been Beachcomber's words when Huffer admitted he wished he could leave. Of course at the time Huffer yelled at Beachcomber and called him a traitor, but now he wondered if Beachcomber and Skyfire had been right all along. Did he really want to keep fighting just to die on this chaotic organic marble?

Huffer sighed again as he thought about this. Even if he left, where would he go? Back to Cybertron obviously, but so much of it belonged to the Decepticons. Where could he go where neither Autobot or Decepticon would find him? Also, how would he get there?

 _There's a small transport shuttle on Deck 9._.. Huffer thought; tempted by the idea of finally being free. _No! Stop it, Huffer! They're countin' on me. Well, maybe_ countin _'_ on me _is a strong word. I mean, when was the last time I was actually sent on a mission that mattered? It's always 'Huffer fetch this' or 'Huffer do that'. Face it, I'm an errand boy in this stinkin' unit. They won't miss me. What's one little minibot in an army of big tough 'Bots anyway?_

His processor still dwelling on the matter, Huffer went into recharge and barely managed to stay offline as his warring thoughts plagued him. To leave, or to not leave? Did they need him? No. Would they miss him? No. Would he be happier away from earth? Yes. Would he feel guilty if he left? Yes. Could he live with that? Hm...now that was the question that kept him up that night.

* * *

The next morning Huffer got out of his berth feeling stiff and stressed. Not a good way to wake up, but Huffer was used to it. Today was different however. Today the Autobot shuttle was coming in carrying his four comrades, and today was the day he had made a decision regarding his life. He decided that he wasn't going to be there to greet them, he was going back to Cybertron, and the Autobots were on their own.

Huffer went down the halls with a purpose to his step not normally observed from the purple and orange minibot. He was going home, and he was kissing earth goodbye. As Huffer made his way to Deck 9 to take the shuttle to freedom, he got a comm signal from Ultra Magnus.

/Huffer, report to gun turret 3 for sentry duty,/ Ultra Magnus commanded.

/ _Seriously_ , commander?/ Huffer whined, /The Decepticons would be idiots to attack Autobot City. This is the most fortified sector of our defense network. You don't need me mannin' some fancy show cannon./

/That was not a request Huffer, and I will not tolerate your gear-grinding today,/ Ultra Magnus replied sternly, /Now, get moving./

Huffer growled under his vocalizer as the connection was cut off. He was so slagging _tired_ of Ultra Magnus acting like he ran the show. Who did he think he was, Optimus Prime? Well, Huffer wasn't about to alter course today. Turret 3 could collect cobwebs for all he cared. 25 years of earth was more than enough, and he was going home no matter what the consequences may be.

The tiny ship wasn't in great repair. It was one of Wheeljack's junk restoration projects, but it would do for Huffer's purpose. He packed some extra fuel for the shuttle and for himself, took one final look at Autobot City, and climbed inside the ship that would take him back where he belonged.

He knew this was wrong. He knew he was deserting the Autobot cause and betraying his friends. It was only temporary though. He would find Optimus back on Cybertron and explain his situation. He would volunteer for whatever scrap assignment he was given so long as he could stay on his home world. Optimus was his friend. He would understand.

* * *

Yeah, Optimus might've understood...if he lived. Huffer left the memorial and got into his tiny ship; the same one that took him away from his duty and his old life. He never let the old clunker go because it was all he could afford without a job. It was also built by Wheeljack, another 'Bot who was immured in that floating cemetery. Huffer felt it was only right to keep something that had belonged to such a kind and quirky spark. Huffer didn't even realize how much he liked Wheeljack until he was gone.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that was true of a lot of the Autobots that had been lost in the battle. Huffer felt guilty for deserting, but at the same time he also felt strangely grateful for surviving. He still cared about the Autobot cause with all his spark, but at the same time he knew he would no longer be welcome in the new Cybertronian society if anyone knew what he did.

Huffer turned on the autopilot and set course for Tarn, a city on Cybertron where empties gathered by the truckload and no one asked you where you came from. Too many Cybertronians had traumatic stories they didn't want to talk about. What was one more?


	2. Someone to Lean On

_Author's Notes: Hi guys! Well, this chapter would probably best be called dramedy, because it doesn't feature just one emotion. Also, while I do mention Headmasters continuity in this chapter, the part where Cybertron blew up doesn't happen in this story for obvious reasons. Anyway, thank you for reading and supporting this story. You guys are a great audience :)_

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Chapter 2

Someone to Lean On

A vorn, or 84 earth years, passed since the battle of Autobot City and the events that had led Huffer into his current state of malaise. A lot had happened to change Cybertron over the course of a single vorn. The matrix of leadership's collective power had to be dumped in order to save the universe from a hate plague. That meant that while Rodimus and Optimus (who was alive again, if you can believe that), were both called Prime, neither one could actually _be_ a Prime since the title was now meaningless. Rodimus eventually figured that out as well, so he and a small group of Autobots left the planet to search for...eh, Huffer couldn't actually remember _why_ they left, only that they did.

Optimus was eventually killed again by Galvatron, who likewise eventually died. Ever since then leadership changed hands constantly. Fortress Maximus was the last leader whose name Huffer could even remember, but he wasn't currently in charge at the moment. Without a Prime anyone who was strong enough and had enough charisma could be leader, which made the Autobot faction's name, much like the title of Prime, virtually meaningless.

The Decepticons of course went about business as usual, but their numbers were dwindling and many of them didn't even bother staying on the planet. Really, it was amazing how little political discord even mattered to the everyday Cybertronian's life anymore.

Huffer was old enough though that he understood how ignoring the problem could cause another civil war, but he didn't care enough to intervene anymore. His only priority was to earn credits, refuel, find something fun to do, recharge and repeat. He spent most of his orns either searching for odd jobs or doing odd jobs, and then spending his off hours at whatever bar or diner he found himself in.

Huffer repainted himself several times, and a few times even scanned new alt modes. Earth alt modes stuck out like a sore digit anymore, and Huffer didn't like being noticed. The guilt and anguish of his past actions eventually gave way to resignation and monotony as he went about his life. He was a neutral now because despite his desire to belong somewhere he knew deep down that he didn't. Besides, the Autobots weren't the faction they used to be, and he didn't understand these younger models and their odd transformations. Better to just stay out of everything.

* * *

One orn he was at Figment's Bar drinking down some high grade after long joors of lifting and setting girders at a construction site. Construction work was one thing Huffer could still count on, especially since that was one skill he felt he was truly designed for. Huffer could only get high grade strong enough to suit him at Figment's. Newer models were installing organic fuel converters and were also being built smaller to conserve energy, so energon wasn't usually refined pure enough to make high grade for older models anymore. Mechs that weren't minibots like Huffer were finding it nearly impossible to get enough fuel to get overcharged.

"Hey, mech. The usual?" Figment asked in his soft raspy voice.

"Yeah, sure," Huffer replied reflexively; used to this bi-ornly ritual, "Any word on work around here? I need another job."

"Well, I don't seem to recall..." Figment replied with a glint in his green optics, "Maybe a few shanix would remind me..."

Huffer growled and dug in his subspace for the credits he would need before Figment would tell him about the latest opportunity in Tarn. He grumbled and was about to hand over the money when the doors swung open and an eerily familiar voice filled the establishment.

"Hey bartender!" The friendly baritone boomed right near where Huffer was sitting at the counter, "I heard from a friend that you sell real high grade around here. How much?"

Huffer shoved the credits back in his subspace, talk of a job completely forgotten. He saw the black jeep-former with his own optics, but he didn't believe it. It was actually Trailbreaker, after all these years.

"High grade is 1 shanix per pint. A full cube'll cost you 640 shanix," Figment drawled, certain a mech that wasn't a regular customer wouldn't be able to afford it.

"640 shanix for _one cube_ of high grade!?" Trailbreaker exclaimed indignantly, "Why I remember when you could get a cube for 47 shanix, and the servers were a lot better looking than you."

"Yeah, sure, whatever old timer," Figment replied dismissively, "If you can't pay for high grade then order something else or get out. I've got customers waiting for me and you won't find high grade as pure as mine anywhere else, so make your choice."

"Hey Figment, I'll buy him a cube," Huffer offered, "Get mine too, while you're at it. I tell you, the service around here gets slower every orn."

"Bah!" Figment waved away the typical bad attitude from his regular customer as he shambled to the back to get the cubes.

"Gee, thanks friend," Trailbreaker smiled gratefully and gestured to a table where they could sit, "It's not too often I see another standard ground build anymore. Sometimes I feel like an old fossil around all these fancy looking kids. My name's Trailbreaker, by the way. What's your name, stranger?"

Huffer smirked to himself. He had painted himself brown with red accents a quarter vorn ago, so it was no wonder Trailbreaker didn't recognize him. Trailbreaker on the other hand didn't look any different. He was still black with silver chrome and still turned into an earth-based jeep. The only difference Huffer could see was the visor. It had once been blue, but now it was a garish red. Wait a second...

"Hey, ain't red a Decepticon optic color?" Huffer asked without telling Trailbreaker his name.

"Not anymore," Trailbreaker replied without taking offense, "Optic color hasn't been a faction indicator for years. I must admit I'm one of the only Autobots in my unit that has a red visor, but I thought I should take the first step in trying to incorporate former Decepticons into our ranks. Our world needs to unify if things are going to get any better. Especially now that there are new factions popping up all over the place. The Pretenders have gained quite a following, and the beast frames seem anxious about their place in Cybertronian society."

The two cubes of glowing purple liquid came, and Trailbreaker drank and talked to his spark's content. Huffer had given him no designation, but it didn't seem to matter to the talkative Autobot. Huffer found himself settling into the conversation and mostly just nodding and listening to the fellow grounder talk about nothing in particular. Huffer was smiling, which was unusual for him these days, but it had been over a vorn since he had associated with any of his old friends. He was glad someone he had known back then had survived and could still be happy even now when everything was changing all around them.

Trailbreaker ordered a second full cube and even paid for it himself, and Huffer nursed his drink since he didn't feel like trying to drive home when he was cratered. Trailbreaker apparently hadn't been able to find high grade for a long time, because his tolerance was much lower than Huffer remembered. In fact, after two cubes Trailbreaker was _already_ overcharged.

"An' so then...Metragon says he'd kill the hostages if we didn' give'em all the energon and...what else wuzzit?" Trailbreaker asked when he forgot where he was in his story.

"And the crystals," Huffer supplemented helpfully.

"Yeah! Thazzit, the crystals," Trailbreaker nodded like a bobble head as he tried to recall the rest of what he was saying, "So friend, it's been fun, but I gots to go. This high grade is excellent. I wanna 'member this..."

"Believe me, you won't," Huffer deadpanned, "You sure you can get home by yourself? I can walk you there if you want. I mean, I got nothin' better to do."

"Thas so nice of you, fella," Trailbreaker replied while giving Huffer a goofy grin, "I'd like that. I live in the Lfwrrr Hotel…"

"The Livewire, got it," Huffer translated the slurring drunk talk as he helped Trailbreaker get out of his chair, "That ain't too far from here, but you know that place is a dump."

"How would you know?" Trailbreaker asked challengingly despite leaning on Huffer for support.

"Because I live there too, rust bucket," Huffer replied with some good natured ribbing, "And unlike you, I ain't leavin' in an orn or two. That's my home. They actually let some mechs rent rooms there on a tri-vornly basis. I live on the bottom floor."

"Oh yeah? I live on a floor too," Trailbreaker laughed despite his words not actually being that funny, "Yeah, third floor. Next to the other rooms."

Huffer sighed longsufferingly and continued to help Trailbreaker walk down the street. It would have been faster if they transformed and drove home, but Huffer was afraid if Trailbreaker transformed he would get stuck or something. Maybe even drive into a pothole and forget he could drive out. Yeah, Huffer was strong, but it didn't mean he relished the idea of carrying a drunken jeep up a flight of stairs to his grimey hotel room.

"Ya know pal, Tarn is so cold," Trailbreaker slurred as they walked down the sidewalk, "I'm used to earth. Earth, well...some places are cold, I guess. Not like this though. No, it's not cold like this. Tarn is so...so, so, cold."

"It ain't _that_ cold," Huffer argued, surprising himself by being the optimist in a conversation for a change.

"Is thuh air," Trailbreaker said drunkenly; his processor trying to put him into recharge, "I miss the earph's air. I miss Daniel, too. You didn't know him. He was a human."

Huffer sighed as he listened to Trailbreaker try to keep himself awake. He actually did remember Daniel. They weren't close or anything, but he remembered. Carly was so excited when she got pregnant with her new sparkling, and watching as the little rugrat grew was an interesting experience at least. Spike was such a proud father, and Daniel had the honor of being the first child on earth to grow up around the Transformers. Now Cybertronians living on earth was no big deal, but back then it had been exciting to see new human life accept them without treating them like a novelty.

 _Hm, so now they're all gone..._ Huffer thought ruefully. _Spike, Carly, Sparkplug, Daniel...they're all dead. Wow, I always forget how short human life spans are. You'd think they'd do somethin' about that by now..._

"You know wuh?" Trailbreaker mumbled, and Huffer hummed an affirmative to indicate he was listening, "You look like someone."

"Everyone looks like someone," Huffer pointed out, and then groaned at how much he sounded like Beachcomber. Pit, why did he keep thinking about that hippie loser?

"Naw, I mean you look like someone I used'ta know," Trailbreaker elaborated, "Yeah, you look like someone I used to work wif on earph..."

Huffer didn't let it show, but he was nervous. He couldn't let Trailbreaker know who he really was. If his team knew he had gone AWOL right before the battle that claimed so many lives he would be court martialed and possibly spend the rest of his life in some lousy prison with a huge savage Decepticon cellmate. Scrap, Huffer needed to come up with a fake name before Trailbreaker figured out the truth!

"Oh, _now_ I 'member the name..." Trailbreaker exclaimed as he lifted his digit in the air in a 'eureka' gesture, "Outback! You look a lot like Outback, except he didn't have a round helm and a trailer hitch..."

" _Outback_?" Huffer asked despite himself, "Who the flaming pit is Outback? That's the stupidest designation I've ever heard!"

Trailbreaker couldn't answer, however. He had just gone into his recharge cycle in an attempt to help his systems digest all that high grade his frame was no longer used to. Huffer moaned when he realized he would have to carry Trailbreaker up the stairs to his 3rd floor apartment after all. Either that or let Trailbreaker stay in Huffer's ground level apartment, but Huffer wasn't about to let a lush, even one of his former friends, recharge on his couch. It was easier to just carry him up the stairs.


	3. Predacons Rising

_Author's Notes: Welcome back to my special 50th TF fic! Sorry this update took a while, but I'm glad to finally get this chapter out. It's not a long chapter, but we finally get a tiny taste of some Beast Wars action. A note, Terrorsaur doesn't have the pterodactyl alt mode yet, so in this chapter he doesn't fly. I don't know why I made him that way. I just thought it would be interesting ^_^'_

* * *

Chapter 3

Predacons Rising

Huffer left his apartment in the middle of the night and gazed up at the stars as he walked to the parking garage. It was a calm still night on Cybertron, and Huffer just wanted to enjoy it for once. It had been 3 vorns since that weird night when he met Trailbreaker at the bar, and 4 vorns since the battle of Autobot City. Huffer still didn't do much besides work, but now it was getting more difficult for him to find part time jobs. His frame was so old, 10 million years old to be exact, and now employers feared he would break down in the middle of the job or something.

Huffer's tiny moment of joy was ruined by these thoughts. He was so sick of being treated like yesterday's junk, and he was tired of buildings getting smaller and smaller. If he weren't a minibot then roofs wouldn't be able to accommodate him anymore, and he was starting to see why so many larger Cybertronians stayed offworld. If he could think of a better place to go, at this point he might actually consider it.

Huffer finally made it to the parking garage for non-sentient vehicles, and he bought a sponge and a packet of cleaning solution from the vending machine just outside the gate. Once he found his parking space, he took out the stuff he bought and started cleaning his shuttle. It was the same shuttle he had taken off in 4 vorns ago, the one Wheeljack had made, and despite its age and oxidized condition Huffer still kept it and tried to keep it in good condition. It was a reliable ship, and Huffer couldn't bear to part with it since they just didn't make shuttles like that anymore.

After Huffer finished washing his ship he started to walk back to his apartment building. As he was strolling casually down the sidewalk however, something strange happened. He received a distress signal on his general Autobot frequency. That was unusual, since the codes Huffer had installed had been outdated for 3 and a half vorns. Nobody used this code anymore, so Huffer didn't understand who could possibly be in need of help. Against his better judgment, he decided to answer it.

/Any Autobots hearing his frequency, we need backup fire!/ A panicked and familiar voice hollered into the comm, /Please come to the planet Gerome 4 immediately! Predacons are burning the village and killing the native inhabitants. We cannot hold them off for long! Please, any Autobots or even Maximals hearing this frequency follow our coordinates to Gerome 4! Hurry!/

"That was Mirage..." Huffer softly whispered to himself; dazed after hearing the tower accented mech after so long, "What the frag...? Why is he usin' an old code? Wait, Predacons? Those tiny beast-formers the Decepticons made? Aw, fraggit! The 'Cons are at it again! I can't answer that comm though. I'll never make it in time. Mirage is doomed."

Huffer started to walk back to his apartment to try to forget the whole thing, but he stopped as he made it to the lobby door. His servo pressed hard against the glass in anguish, and he fought with himself over whether or not to try to go to the planet and save his former friend.

It was too far. He'd get there in three cycles if he used his tiny shuttle, but by then the battle would be over. If he did nothing however, he would always wonder what happened and feel guilty about it forever. He was no medic, but he knew basic field repairs. If nothing else, he could help them rebuild any structures the Predacons destroyed if he went.

"I must be nuts," Huffer muttered as he opened the door and ran to his apartment door, "I'm nuts. I'm crazy. This is insane. I'll never make it. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die."

Huffer muttered this less than encouraging mantra as he ran around his living room and bedroom collecting things for his trip. He grabbed his guns, his bombs, his grenades, his first aid kit, and a few cubes of energon. When Huffer realized how many weapons he'd packed, he suddenly felt like a hoarder for saving all these things despite not having been a soldier since he faked his death. Oh well, it would come in handy now.

* * *

The trip took only two cycles since Huffer ran his shuttle at top speed the entire way. When the ship was low on fuel Huffer had to sacrifice some of his expensive energon to keep the blasted tin can moving. If there was even a small chance Huffer could get there in time, he would do whatever it took. He wasn't leaving his friends again. Not when he was likely the only one with the codes to hear their cries for help.

Huffer scanned the planet for any signs of Cybertronian civilization and found the remains of a few ships. He landed when he found the spot, and saw that there were two ships, much larger than his own, and both had been obliterated by enemy fire. That was not a good sign.

Huffer started walking in the direction where he saw pede tracks, and after 10 breems of walking he saw that the pede steps turned into tire tracks. Figures. He would have to transform to follow.

The sky was a peach color with white clouds, and the ground was covered in some pink fuzzy stuff that reminded Huffer of the cottony candy the humans liked to eat back on earth. Huffer transformed and drove through the rough fuzziness, and realized it was sticky like cotton candy too. Just his luck...

Huffer stopped when he saw movement from a purple colored shrub, and he transformed into robot mode and took out his gun. If it was a Predacon, he wanted to be ready. Huffer moved slowly so as not to make too much noise, but as he got closer it was clear he had been noticed because a creature popped out of the bushes and backed away while screaming unintelligibly at him. The being was about ten feet tall, which was also Huffer height, with orange colored skin, four arms and two legs, a thin red cloth covering its body, and four tiny eyes; two on each side of its face.

Realizing that the screaming was its attempt to communicate, Huffer adjusted his translator and then asked the being to repeat what it had said to him.

"Please, don't hurt me," The creature said, and somehow Huffer wasn't surprised, "I have done nothing against the Predacons. I beg for restraint, please!"

"Maybe if you'd done somethin' you wouldn't have to hide in a bush," Huffer groused, realizing this guy thought he was the enemy, "I ain't a Pred, pal. I'm here because an Autobot sent a distress signal. I'm here to help."

"You are an Autobot? Oh, thank the almighty one!" The alien exclaimed in relief, "We are still fighting off the Predacons. I lost my gun in the initial struggle, and have not been able to fight with the others."

"Who else is here? Is it just Mirage?" Huffer asked demandingly.

"Mirage is still with us, as is Hound," The alien explained, "We also had another with us named Silverbolt, but he was killed when the Predacons caused him to crash."

Huffer bent his helm in silent mourning for Silverbolt. He was the leader of a gestalt. If his brothers lived, they would endure unimaginable pain in their sparks over his loss. Huffer's grief lasted only for a couple seconds however as he lifted his helm to once again regard the native with hard determined optics.

"Take me to the others," Huffer ordered.

The creature complied without argument and led Huffer to the ruins of what had once been a thriving village. Huffer could tell the buildings had been made out of that sticky pink scrap that littered the ground and stuck to his tires. Now it was nothing more than smoking ruins. The other villagers and their two Autobot friends stuck out like exposed sparks amid the sea of pink chaos.

"Sirs, a friend approaches!" Huffer's guide announced as he ran toward the others, "He is an Autobot!"

"Yeah, uh, I got your signal," Huffer added awkwardly as he walked at a slower pace to where Mirage and Hound were standing.

"The KN203 distress signal? It actually _worked_?" Mirage asked in shock, "That was a last ditch effort born of desperation. I didn't think there were any Autobots left that could read that distress call. What is your name, my good mech?"

Oh, right. Huffer was still brown and red with a Cybertronian alt mode. Of course Mirage and Hound didn't recognize him. Huffer knew he should be thankful for that, but part of him still lamented the friendship he had lost when he abandoned them all those vorns ago.

"My name ain't important," Huffer replied gruffly, "Who did this?"

"Predacons," Hound told him, "They went by the names of Waspinator, Terrorsaur, and Scorponok. Apparently they're terrorists that want to destroy anything Autobot, even a couple of retired civilians like us. I'm just sorry our friends had to get involved in this. The people of Gerome 4 are no threat to anyone. They didn't deserve what the Predacons did to them."

"So, you guys don't need anythin'?" Huffer asked uncertainly, not sure if he should leave or stay, "I mean, uh, I did come all this way. I might as well make myself useful."

"You could stay to collect more frillzin with us," Mirage suggested, "Frillzin is this pink grassy substance growing from the ground. The villagers make all sorts of things from it. Everything from clothes to baskets to houses."

"Spend the day pickin' up pink sticky scrap? _Lucky_ , _lucky_ me," Huffer replied sarcastically, but set to work helping anyway.

* * *

For several hours Huffer feel into a silent and steady rhythm of picking up frillzin, handing it off to a villager, and repeating the process. Not the swashbuckling rescue mission he expected, but at least he felt needed again. Mirage and Hound spoke more to each other than to him, but he didn't mind. He was just happy to hear their voices again.

Huffer was feeling tired when he made it to the outer edges of the village with yet another load. He was searching for a villager to give his basket full of pink scrap to when his pede accidentally kicked a lump of something and he nearly tripped. Huffer saw that it was a grey hard-shelled arachnid sleeping in the middle of the construction zone, and he angrily kicked it again for nearly causing him to trip. That had been a big mistake...

The large insectoid unfurled itself, revealing a grey scorpion like creature with spikes and twin stinger tails! Huffer screamed and back away, only to find the silver creature was being flanked by a giant green and yellow wasp as well as a red lizard with flapping folds of skin all around its body.

"Uh, guys...what did the Preds look like again?" Huffer yelled almost casually to the other Autobots.

"Real ugly," Hound replied, "There were two insectoids and one lizard. Why do you ask?"

Huffer gulped, and then turned back to see the gang of Predacons transforming and glaring at him. Oh, he was so dead...

" _Predacons_!" Huffer screamed as he took his gun out of subspace.

He had grabbed a pistol, not the best tool against a team of three, but it would have to do. Huffer started firing as he let out a feral scream at the offending beasts. These were Silverbolt's killers, and the ones that would harm innocent organics. He couldn't let them get away. He couldn't let these mini-monsters start another war.

Waspinator fired a stinger at Huffer, and it hit him in his left arm. He let out a cry of pain but continued to use his right arm to shoot. Scorponok skittered to where Huffer was standing and jabbed his stinger into the mech's chassis armor; piercing it through! Huffer cursed himself inwardly for forgetting how to dodge. He was rusty in the ways of battle, and it might cost him his life.

Huffer staggered, and Hound showed up behind him to help steady him. Mirage had camouflaged himself and was behind the enemies. Huffer could barely make out the outline of his laser pistol, and Huffer couldn't help but smile knowing the former spy was on the case.

"What's with that dopey grin, Autoboob?" The red lizard asked, "Can you see the matrix? Is it beautiful, Autobot? Hahahaha!"

Mirage then fired his weapon, but it only managed to graze one of the lizard's skin flaps. The Predacon leapt away with an impressive jump and squawked at the Autobot furiously.

"Oh, _come on_!" Huffer exclaimed in frustration, "We _cannot_ be losin' to them! It's like fightin' a pettin' zoo!"

"You're going to regret that, Autobot! Yaaaah!" Terrorsaur, for that was the lizard's name, charged at Huffer and readied his deadly claws.

Huffer grabbed the claws before they could strike his face and hung on for dear life. It was an impasse as the other two Autobots were busy with the other two Predacons and Huffer kept trying to force back the vicious predator. When Huffer looked at the other Autobots it was almost funny. They were more than twice the size of the Preds, and frankly even Huffer was a little taller than these technorganic rejects. He cracked a smile at the sight, but that would cost him as Terrorsaur stopped trying to claw at Huffer and instead chose to bite his face!

Huffer screamed while his face was still in the Predacon's mouth, and he beat the thing repeatedly with the butt of his gun. Terrorsaur finally let go, and Huffer felt of his face to make sure it was still there.

"Predacons!" Terrorsaur shouted to his comrades, "We cannot defeat these Autobots! They are too old and powerful. Grab some meat and let's go!"

"Meat?" Huffer asked to himself, "Where are they gonna get-?"

Huffer was cut off as he noticed Hound and Mirage suddenly fight even harder against the Predacons. He didn't understand what they were doing. The Preds were retreating. Doesn't that mean they won?

He got his answer when Scorponok broke away from Mirage. He found one of the frightened villagers, impaled it with his tail and brought the still writhing body back with him. That was when Huffer understood. Predacons were able to ingest organic matter. That meant they could eat anything, even...

" _Nooooo_!" Hound screamed in pain and fury as he chased after the retreating Predacons, but the beast-formers were able to fly away thanks to Waspinator carrying them. Hound shot at them ferociously, and then when he couldn't shoot them down beat the ground with his fist.

" _Kenari_!" Hound wailed as he beat a new small crater into the ground, "Not again! _Not again_!"

Mirage put his servo on Hound's shoulder, and Huffer tried to turn away from the rueful scene, only to be met with the sight of crying villagers mourning the loss of their friend. Huffer didn't know these people, and felt he was intruding on their moment, but he did know one thing from this encounter...he hated Predacons. He hated them as much as any Decepticon. They were savage beasts with no shame and barely half a processor to rub together. Huffer would not forget this day.


	4. Nip and Tuck

_Author's Notes: Hello everyone, and thank you for returning to this poor neglected fic. There isn't really any action in this chapter, but it's probably the most important chapter in the story, since this is where Huffer officially becomes Rattrap. It took a while to update because I wasn't sure how exactly I wanted to write this. Ultimately I went with introspective and somewhat casual. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter of "The Rat Came Back" :)_

* * *

Chapter 4

Nip and Tuck

As Huffer grew older it seemed that the inverse was happening to Cybertron. Every vorn it seemed like more and more beast-formers were being built in Vector Sigma, and the planet's infrastructure got smaller as a result. Huffer found he barely fit in most places anymore due to his bulk, and the trends going around mostly eluded him. It was as if Cybertron had been dipped in a fountain of youth and simultaneously shrunk.

The planet hadn't dealt with an actual war in a long time, but it was dealing with a cold war of sorts as the new factions of Maximals and Predacons divided up their territories and vied to be the majority leaders in the Cybertronian high council. Huffer was relieved to see that every vorn more and more Maximals obtained and held power. He knew with the Autobots' descendants in charge that Cybertron would be run in a peaceful and fair manner.

One thing Huffer wasn't prepared for was obituaries. Huffer had seen a lot of death in his lifetime, mostly casualties from war. That wasn't what bothered him. It was the news articles showing obituaries of old outmoded 'Bots dying of old age and inability to access the fuel they needed to keep functioning. Obituaries were a relatively new concept on Cybertron; one they had imported from earth. Earth still played an important role in a lot of Cybertronian pop culture and newly established social norms. Obituaries was just another example of this.

Huffer grew slower every orn, and his joints rusted from lack of care. He didn't have the energy to work for long hours anymore, and since legally he was dead he couldn't draw a pension. He knew that soon he would spend up his savings and not be able to rent his apartment anymore. He was obsolete, and it seemed like Cybertron was moving on without him.

One thing that got to Huffer was when he turned on the news one orn and saw that Jazz had passed away peacefully in his recharge, and all of Iacon was in mourning over the loss of one of their oldest citizens and war heroes. Huffer hadn't seen or spoken to Jazz since the day he went AWOL. He wouldn't say Jazz was his close friend, but he still felt the pain in his spark knowing that he was gone.

"What am I doin' here?" Huffer asked himself after turning off the TV, "What do I have to show for 10 million years of life? Humans accomplish more in a single vorn of life than I have in all this time. I mean sure, 4 million years of that time was spent in stasis lock, but that still leaves 6 million I had to work with. What have I done with it? I worked a construction job all my life until I was called up for war. I fought with Prime until it became too much to handle and I left. After that, more construction work. So, I've done nothin' with my life and I'm rusting in my chair. Jazz didn't do that. Jazz was always doin' things for others and learnin' new things. He knew how to live. All I've done is avoid dyin'. This ain't really livin'."

The longer Huffer thought about his situation, the more he hated it. He was always depressed even when things were going well, and even when he had purpose he couldn't see it for his own misery. He was tired of living this way, but wasn't sure how to change it now that he was too big to fit through most doors and could only afford to refuel once every two orns. Soon he wouldn't even be able to do that.

"Hm...How many credits do I have left?" Huffer asked himself as he thought about his money troubles.

He went to his berth and lifted it up to reveal a steel lockbox that held Huffer's finances and sentimental items. He unlocked it and checked his credits...800. He had 800 credits to his name, and his rent was 520 credits. He wouldn't last much longer on such a pitiful amount.

"Well, that's it. I'm gonna die," Huffer sighed as he closed the box and hung his helm in defeat, "Well Huffer, you don't have long to live now. So then, let's make a wish. What have I always wanted to do? What could I spend this money on to give me one last great memory to play on loop as I kiss the matrix?"

Huffer thought for a while on what he wanted, but he had no greater ambitions than to refuel and recharge. With nothing better to do, he decided to take his precious credits and guzzle down as much energon as he could before he lost everything and starved to death. Maybe if he was lucky he would have enough energy to do one more job and earn one more paycheck.

Huffer walked all the way to his favorite bar. He didn't even have the energy required to transform into vehicle mode. That was fine. No one maintained the roads anymore since there weren't that many vehicle-formers left in this world run by beasts.

When Huffer got to Figment's Bar he looked at the dirty windows and the lack of patrons. He wondered how long this place would last after he was gone. It was a bar that didn't serve very appetizing organic options. The old models that consumed energon were the ones that kept this place afloat, and there weren't many of those left.

As Huffer lazily gazed at the inside of the rundown joint he was bumped into by a Maximal that transformed into a glitch mouse.

"Ow! Hey, watch where you're goin' rodent!" Huffer snapped at the smaller mech.

"My apologies, old timer," The mouse replied with a mixture of obsequiousness and ill manner, "I, uh, couldn't help but notice your rusted out carcass from down the street. I want to offer you something."

"Are you one of those guys that sells those walk-in bathtubs?" Huffer asked suspiciously, "Because I ain't interested."

"I understand. I hate bathing too," The mouse smirked, "No, I want to offer you something that can actually help. My sire used to be just like you. He was an Autobot that fought during the war but grew too old to handle modern life. Everyone was sure he was a goner, but then we found help for him in the form of the medic Cardion. She's a frame doctor that isn't exactly _above board_ , but she's very good and works very cheap. She built my sire a new beast frame, and now you can't tell him from any other face in the crowd."

"An adult frame transfer? That's illegal!" Huffer yelled at the little con mech.

"Shh! Not so loud!" The mouse-former hissed.

"Look you, when an adult's spark transfers into a frame that's too small there's a 70% chance they'll die," Huffer barked, "I ain't riskin' my neck cables on somethin' like that. No way!"

"That's only true if it's a large mech," The mouse pointed out, "You're a minibot though. You'd probably be okay."

Huffer glared at the glitch mouse, unconvinced.

"Come on, you don't think there's dozens of former outmodes just like you running around in shiny new animal skins?" The mouse asked, "The way I see it you got two options. You can get the frame transfer and live life to the fullest, or you can go in that bar and rust your life away choking down poorly refined fuel that cost as much as a new arm cannon per cube. Your choice."

With those words the mouse went away, inconspicuously dropping a business card near Huffer's pedes. Huffer picked up the card despite himself, and looked down to see only the name Cardion and her address. He frowned deeper, thinking this was stupid, but then again...if his credits could give him a body capable of working harder and eating organic matter, then maybe he would be able to keep his apartment and have another chance to do more than just survive.

* * *

Later that orn Huffer found himself in the Predacon controlled city of Kaon. He was already uncomfortable, seeing the way passersby on the street stared at his obviously Autobot and obviously slow frame. He was worried about being robbed or killed in this area of Cybertron, but this was where Cardion's office was located, and he'd come too far to turn back now.

He went down a disgusting alleyway filled with bile and bones from previously eaten animals. The bones of course were all made of metal, but Huffer couldn't tell if the skeletons were just monoform animals or were sentient beast-formers. Either way the sight made him cringe.

"Hey, rusty!" A green dino-former called out to Huffer, "Want me to call the repo mech for ya? He'll take ya someplace where you'll fit in. Heheheheh..."

Huffer made a rude gesture at the ugly dinosaur and kept on walking. He was almost there. He just had to avoid the Decepticons' pit spawned creations. Predacons were almost as bad as Decepticons, and Huffer couldn't wait to get out of Kaon and back to his apartment. He just hoped his credits would ensure that when he recharged that night it was in a sleek new body.

He made it to the address of Cardion's office, and was bummed out to see it was another dingy building that looked like it should've been condemned vorns ago. He took a deep intake of air, squared his shoulder struts, and went inside to face whatever torture chamber he would find in there.

When Huffer got inside he was surprised to see the waiting room was small, dark grey, but reasonably clean. Everything looked well arranged, and the place smelled of antiseptic sprays. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Did I hear someone come in?" A smooth feminine voice asked from behind the office door, "If it's the board of medicine I sent my bribe to Dropkick seven orns ago."

Well, _that_ was a lovely sign...

"Uh, no. I was told about this place by a former patient's kid," Huffer explained, and realized how sketchy that sounded, "I heard you can give old mechs new frames."

Upon hearing these words the medic decided to enter the waiting room. She was a red and black lizard-former, though Huffer wasn't sure what kind of lizard. Probably a type of monitor lizard from either earth or Mars Colony.

"My word, you certainly _are_ an antique," The femme commented, drawing out her words in an almost lazy manner, "My designation is Cardion, and yes, I can help you. I see you are an Autobot. I assume Maximal forms are your preference. What type of frame are you looking for?"

"Cheap," Huffer replied firmly, "I have 800 credits. Can you do anything for that?"

"My, that certainly _is_ cheap," Cardion drawled, "For that price I can give you glitch mouse or turbo rat, with the option of adaptability within the stream of other mice or rats depending on which one you choose."

"Well...The turbo rat's bigger, right?" Huffer asked.

"Slightly," Cardion shrugged, "But it's still pretty short."

"That's alright. I'm used to bein' shorter than everyone else," Huffer replied indifferently, "I just wanna look young and be able to work again."

"And what is your field of expertise?" Cardion asked.

"Construction work," Huffer told her.

"So is mine," Cardion replied with a jagged toothy smile, "Yes, glitch mouse would be no good for that. Turbo rat is stronger, though not as strong as our more expensive frames. For 1200 credits I can make you a falcon or a large bird along the lines of ostrich or emu. For 1600 I can give you a large mammal form, or the turbo rat form with a triple changer feature that includes wheels and cannons. You never know, after all."

"I told you lady, I have 800 credits," Huffer restated, "Just give me a body that fits into this crazy mixed-up world, okay?"

"As you wish," Cardion nodded agreeably, "Also when you do your medical paperwork don't write in the space that asks for your designation and address. I find my clients prefer anonymity so that they cannot be prosecuted for coming to me. Also you will need to sign a waiver that says if you die I get your corpse to use for medical science."

"Yeesh, you're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Huffer groused, "Aw well. What do I have to lose? I'm already at death's door."

Huffer signed the paperwork as instructed and was led to the back room where Cardion performed her surgeries. This room looked decidedly less nice and less clean than the waiting room. Huffer was scared, and was sure he made a mistake, but the siren call of renewed youth and vigor called out to him. If he survived this, then he would be young again...

* * *

When Huffer awoke from surgery, the first thing he saw was Cardion's tail switching back and forth as she leaned over her sink and washed her medical instruments. He wondered why she couldn't wash them _before_ the surgery. He also vaguely noted that the view wasn't too bad considering she was a Pred.

"I know you're watching me, turbo rat," Cardion said without turning around, startling Huffer, "Would you like to see the new you? I went with basic colors, but I think the chiseled abs turned out nicely. Oh wait, older models like you don't understand the significance of abs, do you?"

"Just gimme the slaggin' mirror, razor face," Huffer snapped; wondering how damaged he was going to look after this botch job.

"As you wish," Cardion replied without taking offense; used to crabby patients, "When you see how handsome I've made you, you'll wonder if you died and went to the matrix."

Cardion then positioned a full length mirror in front of Huffer so he could get a good look at the new him. He stood up and wobbled a little on his pedes; still adjusting to his spark and processor operating a completely different frame. He looked at his new body, and was shocked by what he saw. It wasn't even him! This new body was copper colored with red optics, had big buck teeth, an alt mode with grey fur and beady eyes, and the crown of his helm looked like a silver exposed organic brain!

"What the slag have you done to me!? I'm hideous!" Huffer shouted indignantly.

"I can put your old parts back on you, but it will cost extra," Cardion stated bluntly, "Oh now, don't worry little Maximal. All the young mechs have organic looking parts. You said you wanted to look young, yes?"

"If this is what the kids are into then they all suffered processor damage," Huffer griped, "I know you did this on purpose! You messed me up!"

"I assure you I did not," Cardion replied calmly, "I'll admit your frame is simple, and there are thousands of other turbo rat modes out there, but once you adjust to your new self you will wonder how you lived any other way. Do you have a significant other? I am sure they will be very turned on by this look."

"Significant other? Lady, the longest conversation I've had this vorn has been with you," Huffer quipped irritably.

"Yes, yes, now can you transform?" Cardion asked in a bored tone of voice.

Huffer concentrated on his joints and was pleased to note that transformation wasn't any more difficult than before. When he looked in the mirror he saw an almost perfect replica of a turbo rat staring back at him. It wasn't fancy or anything, but Huffer had to admit he liked the idea of being able to sneak in and out of places. He could never do that in his old frame.

"You like, yes?" Cardion practically stated.

"Yeah, actually," Huffer replied; surprised by his own joy, "Look at me, I'm a special ops agent! Hah!"

"Were you in the war, turbo rat?" Cardion asked curiously, "I do not know much about this time period, but I heard it was quite brutal. I must say, you are a consummate survivor to still be here after all this time. So, what designation do you want?"

"Huh?" Huffer grunted in confusion.

"New frame, new name. Standard policy," Cardion informed him, "If you need help, I have a naming book on one of my data pads."

"Nah, I think I know what I want," Huffer replied, "I'm gonna go with Rattrap, because I'm a rat, and I'm pretty sure this is a trap. I don't know how, but I know you scammed me somehow."

"Well, I did root around in your subspace pocket while you were out," Cardion admitted, "I have to in order to remove your valuables. Beast frames don't come with subspace pockets. That being said, I did use your tube of wax to polish my instruments."

"Eh, it could be worse," Rattrap shrugged, "At least I didn't have any extra money in there. Speakin' of which, where's my gun?"

"I do find it strange you carry that around with you," Cardion commented, "It is over there next to the junk parts that used to be you."

Rattrap looked over at the rusted out parts from his old frame, and it suddenly hit him that he would never see that stuff again. His orange truck hood, his steel pipe arms, his blue optics...he was going to have to leave them all here. He was leaving his old self behind in both a literal and figurative sense. No longer was he going to be the sad sack that abandoned his friends during a crucial battle. Now he was Rattrap, and he could be anything.


End file.
